The Pacific Motel

We’ve all heard of the concept of the weary traveller. But I don’t think I’d so visibly seen it in the flesh until I took Mrs Smith on her first-ever road trip, across California. While some people’s idea of a holiday is rotating by the pool for a week — Mrs Smith included — mine is apparently hitting the highway for thousands of miles, bedding down in a new town each night, and a jam-packed daily itinerary to really complicate things. So, by the time we rolled into the sleepy beach town of Cayucos, in central California, Mrs Smith was relieved to say the least. Even more so when we spotted the sign reading ‘SLO down’ hanging from a local store. An apt abbreviation for the county, San Luis Obispo, where ‘SLO-ing down’ is the entire MO. 

Reader, I too needed to hear it. Since we had entered San Luis Obispo county lines to reach Cayucos that afternoon, there had been three stops already. A nippy dip in a lake. A cocktail at the equal parts baroque and kitsch hotel bar of the famously Instagrammable Madonna Inn. Then off to San Luis Obispo’s farmers’ market, which pedestrianises the city’s streets on Thursday evenings, selling fresh produce like California oranges alongside local fare like barbecued meats and tamales, which we failed to resist sampling. By 8pm, even I’ll admit it was time for a sit down, and one that didn’t involve a steering wheel. I plugged one last address into the GPS for the day. In around 20 minutes from the market, we had found the weary traveller’s safe haven: The Pacific Motel, Cayucos.

The neon motel lights of this modern restoration of an old roadside hotel appeared to us — gratefully — on the seventh-day hump of our 10-day-long trip that snaked up and back down the Pacific Coast Highway also known as Route 1, the full edition of which (US Highway 101) takes you from San Diego to Washington. The moment we parked, Mrs Smith practically swaggered out of the car with exhaustion. But check-in was cheering: the warm conversation, which was like chatting to a friend, and the warm golden-hour light that was by now bathing the motel as the sun prepared to set over the ocean just a few streets away. From the well-curated hotel bar and shop, we swiped up a bottle of sparkling California rosé — just to help us settle in, of course. 

Our helpful host informed us that The Pacific Motel has been open for three years, and is run by a local couple who live nearby. We felt it, observing its community vibes (which include free bikes for rental) and brand of coastal California cool as we headed outside again to find our room. In fact, The Pacific Motel fits right in with the many other motels and weatherboard buildings lining the same street, only notably slicker in presentation and with a touch more flair in design thanks to its decorative details. It’s a coastal twist on Sixties Californian suburbia; our room is not just a room, but a clean white bungalow that resembles an especially spacious beach cabana, and we duck into it under the nautical-striped awning of its porch, a welcoming touch. 

Although these standalone bungalows surround the parking lot in classic motel style, we instantly noticed how private they feel, each nestled in its own landscaped cactus garden and segmented by chill-out areas with fire pits that we’ll later watch come alive at night. But back to our arrival — once the bags hit the floor, the rosé is popped, the in-room fire is turned on for an instant cosy, at-home feeling, and we hop onto our king-size bed, which has sheets as crisp and white as our new home’s exterior. Mrs Smith picks up a Cayucos postcard from the bedside table — the hotel team will mail it anywhere in the world for you, free of charge, another thoughtful touch. 

I pick up a book from the nearest shelf: The Pacific Motel’s own published mini-guide to the area. I start listing local activities excitedly: surfing lessons, wine-tasting, or a guided tour of the nearby historic Hearst Castle. Mrs Smith casts me a look. Outside the window, the evening ocean fog that descends from here up to Big Sur is setting in. Already fed, the comfort of the room lures us. Rest at last, by which I mean dressing gowns on, wine glasses topped up, and a flick through the best of American cable. 

Over the next two days, I have my way: The Pacific Motel becomes a handy, low-key base from which to explore both Cayucos and the wider area. The town itself is walkable; our highlights were the old-school saloon (the perfect place to wear our newly purchased cowboy boots — tourist anyone?), the quirky antique shops and diners, and Cayucos’ famous Brown Butter Cookie Company — all of which were found, conveniently, further along the same street as The Pacific Motel. 

When we took a trip to Elephant Seal Beach, about 20 minutes away, and on the recommendation of the motel’s reception staff, the sense of adventure once again returned: hundreds of the magnificent creatures lay just feet away, in the wild, flopping around on the sand. This was surely my favourite moment of the entire road trip. When I asked Mrs Smith hers, she told me it was sitting out in front of our bungalow during golden hour on our last night at The Pacific Motel, books in hand, relaxing. You know what they say: opposites attract.